


Room for One

by aparticularbandit, Ims0s0rry



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28765476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aparticularbandit/pseuds/aparticularbandit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ims0s0rry/pseuds/Ims0s0rry
Summary: Luisa is stuck at Longbourne during a horrible snowstorm when a stranger comes knocking on her front door.For Roisa Secret Santa 2020.
Relationships: Luisa Alver/Rose Solano
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Room for One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FictionPenned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/gifts).



The windows shake with the pounding of the wind.

Snowstorms have a different sound than the torrential rains of hurricane season: there is no pounding of rain on the glass or the roof, no matter how comforting or terrifying it might sound. Snow falls soft and soundless, and hail – when there _is_ hail – falls louder and pounding. Here at Longbourne, though, there is very rarely if ever hail – only snow and snow and more snow.

The wind, however, is the same. It shakes the windows and howls more like a cat when someone steps on its tail than a wolf falling hopelessly in love with the moon, and no matter how much Luisa tightens the shutters – well, she doesn’t need to do that here, does she? She’s safe inside her little inn. No one comes up to disturb her anymore, even when it _isn’t_ storming. Not during the winter. When she first moved here, the locals said the summer would be more likely to gain her tourists – and it had – but she’s never particularly had to worry about money. This is perhaps one of the few occasions where that is a _good_ thing; it means that her little inn can keep running even if it doesn’t actually draw in much of anything.

When all else fails, fall back on father’s money and father’s job. She spent so many summers working in one or the other of his hotels growing up that she’s sure she can take care of most of the little stuff, and the higher up stuff? It shouldn’t be too terribly complicated, not for a girl with an IQ of 152, not this far out of the way with the very few ~~( _not any_ )~~ customers she has been getting. This will be a lot easier than trying to help Rafael out at the Marbella.

 _This will be a lot easier than trying to do_ anything _at the Marbella._

The wind howls and Luisa batters down the shutters in the guest rooms so that they don’t end up with snow slipping through the panels and lining the hardwood floors with what would end up being a puddled mess, and when that’s done, she starts a fire in the great room’s fireplace, curls up with a mug of hot chocolate (one of the few things she thinks she’s actually mastered), and sits on the couch to see the snow fall. Tomorrow, she’ll get out and shovel the sidewalks the same as she has after each of the other snowfalls, and she’ll curl up in bed with her lower back aching – but she’ll stretch the next morning and that will make the pain… _less_. Manageable, anyway. Then it will snow again, and the pattern will repeat itself.

But, for now, there is this: Luisa curled up by the fire, her mug of hot cocoa between her fingertips, book open in her lap. One of those stupid romantic mystery novels. They’re not fine literature by any means, not like the stuff Jane writes (if Rafael or Rogelio are to be believed), but they’re enough for her. They’re foolish. Hopeful. Best of all, they always end with a happy ending.

Not like in real life.

Luisa isn’t thinking about real life right now. Point of fact, she has been avoiding thinking about real life for the past several months. That was the entire point of running away and hiding somewhere that no one could find her, after all. She always felt so much better in places like these, removed from everything and everyone that—

No.

Not _everyone_.

She’s still here with herself, isn’t she? And no one is so good at ruining her life as she is, using that same foolishness, that same _hopefulness_ , that she finds in these novels. That’s probably why she likes them so much. Edward might run away from Bella for most of a book, but she’ll change his mind by the end. He isn’t _able_ to leave her, no matter how hard he tries, and in the end, she saves him from himself.

Not that Luisa is reading the Twilight Saga right now. That was last month. She’s taking a break from werewolves and vampires and those tropes for now. Give her a historical tormented lover. Maybe a robber baron. She could use a good robber baron. Or a marquess. Or an urban socialite businesswoman who gets unexpectedly sent to a quaint little town in the middle of nowhere and has to stay at the only inn in the town with an open room (despite the town’s Christmas shenanigans and being booked months in advance, someone has unexpectedly cancelled – probably due to an illness or a break-up or some other misfortune).

Actually, give her one of those _now_ – not to the only inn with an open room, but to the only inn open despite the winter season in a location normally set apart for summer tourists who decided that sunny beaches weren’t their speed so much as fish who glow with an unearthly light as though living stars swimming through an even darker pool, stars currently obfuscated with ice and a snow covering the same as the stars overhead are covered with soft grey puffs dealing out unrelenting blankets of snow.

But as much as she hopes, perhaps even fervently for it, nobody comes.

* * *

The snowstorm lasts longer than Luisa expected.

Of course, the other people who stay in the town over the winter (few of them as there are) have _warned_ her that it could grow worse in the blink of an eye, but she hadn’t actually _believed_ them. Or, really, she _had_ believed them, but she’d thought that blink would happen, you know, later rather than sooner. Like _after_ Christmas instead of _before_ it. Not that she’s particularly planning on getting out and seeing family or having family come up to see her (not because she doesn’t _want_ them, but because _they_ don’t want _her_ ), so it doesn’t really matter _when_ it gets worse, only that it _is_ worse.

Worse and worse and worse still, and Luisa bundled up in thirteen layers (or something like that – she isn’t really counting) whenever she needs to get out. _If_ she needs to get out. She hasn’t needed to get out yet, of course, but she will soon. The snowstorm can’t last forever. She should be able to last until it is through.

Hopefully.

It’s just frightfully lonely, being stuck in this big empty bed and breakfast and unable to get out to wave at her neighbors. They’re a little closer to the main road than she is, but she usually sees them whenever she goes for her walks. That’s one of the good things about Longbourne: a vast majority of its interwoven pathways lead to the lake, and the ones that _don’t_ lead to the store or Dee’s (the family-owned restaurant near the center of town) or the thrift store _or the inn_. Everything is in walking distance, and walking helps calm her. Helps her think. About too many things. About everything. But that’s good, in its own way.

Being stuck here? _Less good._

* * *

It’s on the _third_ day of snow shut-in that Luisa begins to get stir crazy.

No. Not crazy. There’s got to be another way to say that without using that word.

Antsy.

Restless.

_Fidgety._

**_CABIN FEVER! HAH!_ **   
~~(It’s burning in my brain!)~~

Not _crazy_. She isn’t _crazy_.

 _It’s on the third day_ that someone comes pounding on the heavy, thick wooden door of the inn, startling her so hard that she about drops her mug of hot cocoa (the mermaid decorated one, with the sparkles). There shouldn’t be anyone here. _No one_ comes up here during the winter. That’s what the locals told her, and that’s what she’s believed – more, even, than the idea of the snowstorm coming up in the blink of an eye. Her mind immediately jumps to the worst of conclusions: a serial killer named Jacqueline with long, dark brown hair, who will of course later be called _Jack Frost_ in any and all movie series based on her exploits, carrying an axe or a chainsaw or – no, no, this is more true to her seasonal sense of murder – _an ice pick_. Luisa likely isn’t her first kill, but she won’t be her last either. _Or maybe she_ is _the first kill_ – murder movie tropes tend to have virgin white girls being the final girl, and Luisa is absolutely _neither_ of those (which really assures her death more than anything), and usually it’s the minorities who die first, and Luisa is both _Latina_ **and gay** , which means she _has_ to be the first to die. It’s a combo effect! Of course, Jacqueline Frost would start here, at her inn, with its pathways that lead everywhere else she might want to go in her murderous rampage!

The pounding comes again, harsher this time, with a couple of lower knocks that sound more like someone kicking the snow off of their boots.

_Jacqueline knows that she’s here._

Of course, she knows she’s here. The snowstorm hasn’t been keeping her _trapped_ , exactly, but it’s been keeping her _inside_ , and the lights are all on, and she has a fire going again (it’s the easiest and best way to keep warm during the storm because there’s always the possibility the electricity could go out), which means that there’s smoke coming from her chimney, so _of course_ , the serial killer would know that she’s here.

Actually, it’s surprising that some of her other victims haven’t run here first in an attempt to escape. More proof that Luisa will be the first.

Luisa presses her lips together, places her hot mug of cocoa to one side, and then crouches down, pulling one of the pokers from next to the fire, before creeping to the door. She can’t just _not answer_ , as much as she wants to do that. What if it isn’t Jacqueline Frost at all? What if it really _is_ someone trying to hide from her? _What if it’s the gorgeous redheaded love interest?_ Of course, one or the other of them will likely die anyway, because there’s so often that touch of tragedy mixed in with horror movies, but they’ll freak each other out at first.

Or maybe _Jacqueline_ is the love interest, and Luisa will have to kill her in the end.

Luisa shakes her head. That’s much too gruesome to think about. She doesn’t think she can actually kill anyone, even if she _is_ carrying around the fire poker in an attempt at self-defense. Maybe if Jacqueline attacks her first and Luisa doesn’t realize what she’s doing. But her love interest? She would _never_ —

The pounding comes a third time, this time at the inner door instead of the outer one. Luisa grits her teeth and yells internally at herself for leaving that door unlocked. Now Jacqueline can lie in wait at the front door until she needs to get out. Or whoever is running from her might get stuck in there, and then Jacqueline could kill them just as Luisa opens the door, spraying bright red blood all over the intricately carved glass inserts!

That would be a pain to wash off.

 _Luisa wouldn’t be washing_ anything _off because she would probably get killed, too._

She creeps over and looks through the glass, the bells on the collar of her Christmas sweater jingling, which is a mistake because that _really_ lets the murderer or whoever know that she’s here, but the only thing she can see is a big puffy indigo blue coat with a fur-lined hood pulled up and a soft rosy pink scarf covering the face of whoever is on the other side. Luisa can’t make out her eyes – not through the waves of the glass – which means she can’t tell if they’re blood crazed or not. The only thing she has to even guess at the woman’s gender is her own mixture of hope and fear.

If it really _is_ a serial killer, then it’s probably a man. More serial killers are men. It’s just statistics.

If it’s her _love interest_ , though, then it’s a woman. She wouldn’t have a male love interest.

_And if her love interest is the serial killer, then she’s just screwed either way._

Hah! A pun!

Luisa takes a deep breath and pulls open the door, the hand tightly holding the fire poker hidden behind her back. She forces a grin onto her face and steps back as she holds the door open in an attempt to maintain her composure and her normal cheer. “Welcome to Longbourne Inn!” Her voice holds the cheeriness that she’s struggling to maintain. She’s usually not good at faking this sort of cheer without a bit of liquid courage, but maybe the long years without it have given her that skill. She’s needed fake cheer. “How can I help you this fine evening?”

The first thing Luisa notices is ~~her possible assailant’s~~ the stranger’s eyes. Her fur-lined hood is crusted with snow and pulled low over her forehead, and her scarf is pulled up high over her nose, masking her face. The only feature Luisa can make out is her startlingly blue eyes.

Then the stranger tugs the scarf down over her chin and says, “Hi, sorry to bother you, but my car just broke down on the side of the road.” She jerks her thumb in the general direction of the road. “Could you give me a jump? I’ve called AAA, but they said it’s too risky to get out until the storm passes.”

The stranger is surprisingly pretty, especially with her rosy nose and cheeks under a smattering of freckles. Of course, that doesn’t rule out the murderer angle. There have been plenty of serial killers with fan clubs just because they were attractive. Luisa doesn’t understand Ted Bundy's appeal, even when he’s played by Zac Efron, but she supposes she’d need to have an interest in men to get it.

Luisa _does_ have a car, but since most of what she needs is within walking distance, she keeps it in a storage unit to free up space for possible tenants. “My car’s down that way.” She nods in the opposite direction from where the stranger has indicated. “It’s probably snowed in at this point, but we can dig it out, if you want.”

“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind?” The stranger smiles ruefully. “I was going to surprise my family this year by driving down, but I didn’t think the storm would stay this bad.”

Well, this is good, right? Murderers usually don’t lure their victims outside to kill them. Unless she wants to get Luisa alone in the garage for easy disposal? Or that whole _garage door slams down on top of her_ thing, like in Scream? She’d be digging out the getaway vehicle anyway. But, on the off chance that this stranger really _does_ need to get home for the holidays, Luisa doesn’t want to be the person who turned her back on someone in need just because of a pesky little thing like fear of getting murdered.

“Hang on, let me just get my boots.” Luckily, Luisa’s already mostly dressed for the outdoors. She only needs to jam on her hat and pull on her gloves and boots before she’s as ready as she’ll ever be to brave the elements. There’s a secondary glance at the heavy woolen coat hanging on its stand next to the door before she pulls it on as well. Better on than not, no matter _how_ frumpy it makes her look. If the stranger really _is_ a murderer, then it’s just an extra layer of padding (and if she’s her love interest, then she won’t care).

“Are you bringing that, too?” the stranger asks, pointing to Luisa’s poker as she leans it against the door.

“Oh.” Luisa blinks a couple of times, staring at it as though she’d forgotten she was even holding it. She smiles up at the stranger. “Uh…yes. The garage gets a little jammed sometimes, and you have to, um, bang on it a few times to loosen it up,” she says semi-convincingly, in her opinion.

The stranger raises an eyebrow and smirks slightly. “I’m Rose,” she says, “if that helps.”

“Luisa,” she replies as she grabs a shovel from the entryway and hands one to Rose as well, “and, um, it does.” Then she opens the door. They’re both immediately beset by the howling wind – even louder with the door open – and what seems like daggers of ice straight to the exposed skin of their faces.

“How far?” Rose yells over the wind.

“Not far!” Luisa yells back, grateful that she doesn’t have any other customers who might be woken up by it. She points again. “It’s about a quarter mile that way!”

“Do you think we can make it?”

“I think so!”

They take a few tottering steps outside before a strong gust of wind nearly causes Luisa to fall over. She grabs onto Rose as she begins to slip, and Rose wobbles but regains her balance. Through unspoken agreement, they link arms and bow their heads against the wind: two dark figures against a backdrop of snow, slogging their way through knee-high drifts, their shovels (and Luisa’s poker) slung over their shoulders.

The mere thousand or so feet it takes to get to the storage unit seems to take forever. In this moment, Luisa bemoans that she left her safe, cozy, but most importantly, warm home to willingly shovel out her car in a blizzard. Warmth sounds like a fantasy, something she only vaguely remembers from a lifetime ago. She forgets about life before this snowstorm. There is only the cold leaching warmth from her fingers and toes, her streaming eyes, and the steady weight of Rose’s arm locked in hers.

When they get to the storage unit, Luisa rushes to the front and starts to frantically dig out the garage, finally separating from Rose as she does so. The sooner they can get the door clear, the sooner they can at least get a roof over themselves in this weather, not to mention the _eventual_ heating up of her car. Rose starts shoveling as well, but they’re only at it for a few minutes before Luisa gives a cry of dismay.

“What is it?” Rose barely makes herself heard over the wind and the scraping of her shovel.

“It’s frozen shut!” Luisa whacks it a few times with her poker for good measure, but the ice doesn’t give.

Rose moves closer to Luisa, her arms wrapped around her chest, hands rubbing at them to warm herself up. “What do we do now?”

Luisa licks her lips (which turns out to be a mistake, since it just makes the stinging worse). “We’ll have to head back inside and wait it out! If we stay out here, we’ll die!”

Distantly, Luisa remembers that Rose could be a serial killer, but between dying of frostbite out here and being murdered in the warmth and comfort of her home, she’ll choose the latter any day. It would be terrible for property values, of course, but she’s too cold to care about that right now. (And would be dead by the time that was an issue, so, really, that’s someone else’s problem. Like the rest of the messes she’s made. But it is far too cold to be guilt-ridden and nostalgic right now.)

They trudge back to the inn. The wind’s changed now, so they have to walk back into it on the way back, too, making a new path through the snow, since the one they’d made on the way out has already been filled in. Luisa suddenly thinks of her father saying he had to walk ten miles barefoot to school in the snow, uphill both ways, and has to stifle the urge to laugh.

Rose must feel her arm shaking in hers, though, because she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Nearly delirious with cold, but fine, other than that!” (And the tears in her eyes freezing to her skin, but those will melt as soon as she gets inside. She’s _fine_.)

Rose adjusts her hold on her shovel so she can point with one mittened hand. “That’s my car there!”

Luisa can barely make out the lump of piled snow from the rest of the drafts. “Good thing I was home. You wouldn’t have been able to weather this storm for days like that!” Her hands are stiff and clumsy when they make it back to the inn, and it takes a few attempts before she can even pull open the door. She and Rose bundle into the entryway, shivering and stamping the snow from their boots. “Let’s leave our things out here to dry,” she says, hanging up her sodden gloves and hat. Ideally, she’d like to keep her coat on, since it’s still breezy in here, but it’s also caked in snow.

Rose snorts as she peels off her own outerwear. “Nice Christmas sweater.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting company,” Luisa says, defensive. She crosses her arms over the wool sweater emblazoned with a llama in sunglasses and a Santa hat. Real bells dangle around its collar, and now that they aren’t pinned in place by her coat, they jingle whenever she moves.

“I wasn’t being sarcastic,” Rose says as she hangs her coat on its stand. “I really do like it.”

Luisa isn’t sure if she’s being made fun of or not, so she says, “Nothing festive for you?”

“No.” Rose brushes snow off of her understated navy fleece pullover. “I wasn’t going to break them out until I got to my parents’ house.”

“Shame. I think they’re appropriate for any situation.” Luisa hangs up her scarf last. “Come in, come in. I’m _freezing_.” She holds open the door for the other woman. “I’m going to heat up my hot cocoa. Do you want some?”

“Whatever you have that’s hot would be great,” Rose says, relief evident in her voice.

Luisa leads the way, stopping by the fireplace to add new logs and prod them a little with her poker before she slides it back into place. Rose could still be a killer, but honestly, Luisa’s invited her in and is offering her hot chocolate now. If something bad happens, that’s on her. Once the flames regain some life, she retreats into the kitchen.

“Take a seat on the couch. I’ll be right back.” There’s some banging and clanking (and the ding of a microwave going off) before Luisa returns with her sleeves pushed up. “So I have coffee, several varieties of tea, or nonalcoholic eggnog, although that’s more of a cold drink, I suppose. I could also make more hot chocolate if you’d like.”

“Hot chocolate sounds good, actually,” Rose replies.

Luisa gives her a little nod and disappears to a back room again, leaving her alone on the couch. While she is gone, Rose looks around from her vantage point on the couch with interest. The inn isn’t big enough to have what would be called a lobby. This is more of a great room. As terrible as being in the blizzard was, she has to admit it looks very pretty from inside these wide windows, especially in front of a roaring fireplace. There’s a TV above the mantle, but it’s off. A radio chatters under the TV, although the volume is so low it’s little more than background noise. Even then, Rose can make out the blizzard warning. The forecast calls for at least eighteen inches in the upcoming days.

Snow has obscured the sign outside, but there’s a wooden desk against one wall with a placard of the same name Luisa first said to her: Longbourne Inn. A cheerful, mismatched Christmas tree stands in one corner, complete with blinking strings of lights. There’s a variety of furniture in the room: a few armchairs, the squishy couch she’s sitting on, some end tables, and a coffee table. Spread over all the tables are piles of books. Rose tries not to disturb them too much, but she can see romances, thrillers, mysteries. It’s an eclectic assortment.

Soon, though, Rose realizes that Luisa’s been a lot longer in the kitchen than she would be to pour some powder from a packet into a mug of warm milk. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Luisa calls back. “Why do you ask?”

“Do you want some help?” Rose turns on the couch, arms resting on its back, and stares down the hall where Luisa disappeared.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Rose pushes herself off of the couch after another minute of waiting and peeks into the kitchen, where Luisa is stirring something in a pan. “You’re making it from scratch?”

Luisa jumps at her voice and then turns to give her a deeply offended look. “Of course. We value authenticity here at Longbourne.” She doesn’t know if her predecessors actually felt that way, but her father had always been adamant about doing what best fit a particular hotel’s location. Longbourne, a little inn next to a tourist town, more of a bed and breakfast than an actual inn, felt like it had a brand of authenticity, so she would make it have one.

Rose frowns, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. “Well, if I’d know it was going to take so much work, I would’ve made myself coffee or tea.”

“It’s not a lot of work!” Luisa exclaims with a final stir. “And I’m almost done anyway.” She lifts the spoon and takes a sip from it before giving a final nod.

“I feel bad.” Then, Rose’s eyes light up. “Hey, how about I make you something? Do you mind?”

Luisa shoots her a wary look as she pours the mixture from the pan into a Christmas tree shaped mug. “What do you have in mind?”

“I saw this recipe for something called _fall drink_ online ages ago,” Rose says as she moves into the kitchen, taking the pan from Luisa and rinsing it off. “I’ve made it a few times, and it always turns out pretty good.”

“Fall drink?” Luisa glances at the snow accumulating outside. “We’re pretty far into the throes of winter.”

“It’s not like pumpkin spice lattes are just a fall thing either.” Rose takes a sip of her hot chocolate, smiling at its festive shape.

“Yeah, they are.”

Rose gasps, her eyes flashing. “Take that back! They’re a _treat yoself_ drink, no matter what season it is. Why, do you want one? I can make that, too, if you want.”

Luisa jumps up to sit on the counter, holding her hot mug between her palms and kicking her heels gently against the cabinets. “Nah, that’s alright. I think it’s definitely just a fall type of drink. How do you know how to make all of these anyway?” she asks as she watches Rose. “Are you a barista?”

“No,” Rose sighs. “My job probably isn’t as stressful as being a barista. Can you imagine dealing with all those customers?” She shudders again, but Luisa doesn’t think it’s from the cold this time. “I’m a lawyer,” she explains. “Corporate law.”

Luisa doesn’t quite mask her distaste fast enough.

Rose laughs as she digs through Luisa’s cabinets for ingredients. “I know. Business and law. The two fields most likely to cheat the system, right?”

“I’m not judging you,” Luisa replies, tapping her fingers against her mug. “It just reminds me of my life before I ran Longbourne.”

“Oh?” Rose looks around the kitchen, her hands on her hips. “Hey, do you have chai?”

“For fall drink?”

“Yeah.” Rose sticks her head in the fridge. “Ha, you have cider even though it’s the middle of winter. I thought you’d dismiss it as an exclusively fall item.”

Luisa gives her a look. “Mulled cider is a thing, you know.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Luisa reaches into one of the cabinets behind her and tosses her tin of chai to Rose. “Once upon a time, I was a doctor.”

Rose raises her eyebrows as she leans against the counter, taking another sip from the mug of cocoa Luisa made her, as she waits for the tea to boil. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. Is running this bed and breakfast your retirement?”

Luisa is quiet for a while before she says, “I guess you could say that.”

Rose knows there’s a story behind that pause. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, cautious not to overstep. There are things people don’t like to talk about – there are things _she_ doesn’t like to talk about (her stepmother and stepbrother being the top of that list) – but some people….

Well, having an unbiased third party listen to their woes can help sometimes. She isn’t a therapist, but she’s always thought that’s really what they’re for. Just to have someone disconnected from everything to blab to.

Luisa gives a half-hearted shrug. “There isn’t much to say. I was good at the studying part of being a doctor!” She smiles, staring at her pink and white mermaid socks and waggling her toes to swish the bottom fin. “I was really good at the people part, too! Helping out with kids and soothing people who were all panicky over having to see me in the first place. I was really good at those!”

“I could have guessed.” Rose returns to stir the tea over the stove, mixing the cider into it, but she looks back just long enough to give Luisa an encouraging smile.

“It’s just the whole _doctor_ thing.” Luisa scowls. She kicks her feet a few times, bouncing her heels off of the cabinets again. “There’s a lot of pressure.” She winces, and her voice grows softer. “I’m not very good under pressure.” Some of her hair has broken out of her ponytail, and she brushes the brown waves back behind one ear. “But being a doctor pays well, even when you get malpractice suits, especially when none of those hold, even though they should, because you’ve got good lawyers.” She looks up just long enough to meet Rose’s eyes, but only briefly. Long enough to catch the understanding of someone who _is_ a lawyer, but not long enough to see the pity of a stranger. She sighs. “I thought I would do better out here. Help people. Be a people person. But not as much pressure. Not really any pressure at all in the winter. There’s more in the summer. _Tourists_ , you know?" She laughs, but she doesn’t look up again, instead bouncing her heels off the cabinets a few more times, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. “But it’s not the same. I don’t feel like someone’s dying because I made a mistake. _Someone might not make it out of town_ ,” she continues, shooting Rose a knowing smile before shrugging, “but that’s not life or death. You staying here instead of being frozen inside your car – that’s the most life or death it gets out here.”

And, of course, the possibility of a serial killer.

The thought is in Luisa’s head and out of her mouth before she says it: “Of course, I was kind of scared you were a serial killer, but that’s just because it’s a snowstorm and that seemed like the _perfect_ time for a serial killer to come knocking on my door, not because I thought _you specifically_ were a serial killer, just that a serial killer would maybe do the sort of things you were doing. You’re certainly _not_ a serial killer, and even if you were, I think I’d let you kill me. It’d be a lot easier than trying to fight you. Besides, you’re the one with the steaming hot liquid in a pan now; I think you’d get me burned with that before I had a chance to do anything else.”

Rose’s eyes widen, and she gives a large nod of understanding. “So _that’s_ why you had the poker. Not anything to do with the garage at all.”

“It could’ve helped!” Luisa exclaims, lips pursing together. “If I’d been able to break some of the ice, I could have used it to pry the door open. Leverage, you know?” She bites her lower lip. “But yeah, you’re right. That’s why I had it. Just in case I needed to defend myself.”

Rose begins to move the pan from the stovetop. She can see Luisa flinch from the corner of her eyes, so she places it on one of the cold burners and lifts her hands, stepping back ever so slightly – two steps at a time. “It’s done. Not going to splash you. Not trying to kill you.”

“I know that!”

Luisa takes a deep breath, and the scent of mixed chai and cinnamon relaxes her almost as much as changing the subject had. _More_ than, actually. Rambling about the serial killer thing just made her feel really awkward. She rubs her fingers along her jeans. “ _I_ could have been a serial killer, too, you know. In movies, when someone’s car breaks down, and they come to stay in an inn like this, the other person is usually a serial killer. But I’m not planning to lock you up in my danger basement or hit you with whips or chains or anything like that. I don’t even _have_ a danger basement.”

“You sound disappointed,” Rose remarks as she hops up onto the counter next to Luisa. “How can you be disappointed about _not_ having a danger basement? I think that could be easily fixed.”

Luisa sighs. “It _could_ , but I have to hire extra help during the summer, and they have to go down to get extra food supplies, and that would raise _a lot_ of questions that I really don’t want to answer.” She hops from the counter, bells around the collar of her festive sweater jingling pleasantly, and walks over to the pan, staring into it. “So, it’s done?”

“Yes, but you have to let it cool.” Rose crosses one leg neatly over the other and rests her chin in her hand. “If you try and drink any of it now, you’ll burn your tongue. Then you wouldn’t be able to taste _anything_.”

Luisa grins. “I have an idea!” She claps her hands together. “Why don’t we get some of the snow and use that to cool it down?”

Rose stares at her, blinks a few times, and then sighs. “I thought you were going to say we should use ice. Snow might actually do better.”

“C’mon, then!” Luisa wraps her arm around Rose’s and pulls her off of the counter. “All we have to do is go outside and get a handful!”

“ _Without our coats?_ ” Rose asks, incredulous. “Or our boots? Or our gloves?”

“ _Ew, no._ ” Luisa meets her eyes, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “Boots and gloves are just going to make the snow taste different. And we’re not going to be out long enough to need our coats!”

“I…I _guess_ ,” Rose answers. She gives Luisa a strong look. “Why don’t _you_ just get the snow, and I’ll wait in here and make sure—”

“ _No, if we’re going to get snow, we’re going together._ ” Luisa glares at Rose. “I’m not going out in the freezing cold again by myself, thank you very much!” Then she taps the side of her nose. “ _Besides_ , adding snow turns your _fall drink_ into a winter one. Much more fitting for the Christmas season.”

Rose shakes her head in a very firm _no_ as she follows Luisa back to the front door. “Winter drink is peppermint, mocha, and chocolate. Sometimes there’s cinnamon, but it’s not the same as fall drink. Don’t mix the two. Besides, didn’t it ever snow during one of your high school football games? There can be snow in the fall, too.”

“Not in Miami, there’s not.” Luisa holds the doors open for Rose. It’s colder in that space between the main bulk of the inn and the actual front door, and she shivers. “You ready?”

Rose rubs her arms with her hands. “I’m _already_ cold, and you want me to go into a blizzard for snow to cool down a drink that will probably be cool enough by the time we get back.” She glances to Luisa. “We could have used whipped cream. We don’t need _snow_.”

“Well, we’re already here, so—” Luisa takes a deep breath and grabs hold of the handle. “In and out. Five minutes tops. We can do this.”

Rose places a hand on Luisa’s shoulder first. “Promise me the door is unlocked. Promise me that it’s not going to lock behind us when we go out.”

“I couldn’t open it if it was locked. Longbourne’s an old inn. We’re not that fancy.”

Rose nods, her gaze moving to the blizzard outside. The snow is falling so fast that it looks almost like a white wall. She bites her lower lip. “Are you sure _you_ aren’t the serial killer here? Going out in the cold like this without our coats – you’re not trying to kill me, are you?”

“ _You big baby._ ” Luisa sticks her tongue out. “I’m from Florida, so if _I_ can do this, _so can you_.” She pulls open the door with one jolt, stands in the snow spray for a few seconds, and then lets it close all at once without even moving. Then she glances back to Rose, her face covered in frost. “Maybe I can’t do this.”

“ _In and out in five minutes, you said. We’ll be fine, you said._ ”

“ _Right, right, we’ll be fine._ ” Luisa takes a deep breath and pulls the door open again with the same jolt. Then she reaches back, grabs Rose’s hand (it’s warm, so much warmer than even the door handle), and drags her out with her. Her teeth start chattering immediately. “ _Just one handful_ ,” she tries to say, although she’s not sure Rose can understand it through the chatter, “ _and we’re good._ ”

“ _What?_ ”

“Just one handful!” Luisa shouts, trying to be heard above the howling wind. “And we’re good!” She turns, but Rose has already rushed back inside. She grabs a handful of her own and follows suit. Then she bursts through the next set of doors and runs to the kitchen. The snow stays in her hand well, but as soon as she makes it into the much warmer main room, it begins to melt, large drops dripping from her bare hand, which quickly begins to grow numb. But she makes it to the kitchen, and she drops her handful of snow into the pan, breathing heavily. She shivers. “ _There._ We did it!”

Rose drops her handful in and stares at the drink. “We didn’t wash our hands first.”

“I’m a doctor, and I don’t care, so you shouldn’t care either.” Luisa stands next to Rose, their shoulders almost touching, and stares into the drink, too. “It looks a little watery.”

“That’s from the snow.”

“Oh.”

Rose knocks into her from one side. “My hands are _freezing_. That was such a bad idea.”

“If we get our drinks, we can warm up by the fire,” Luisa says, still staring absentmindedly into the pan, “and the mugs will help. Fall drink will keep our hands warm, right?”

“Right.” Rose turns to face her. “Where are the mugs?”

“Here.” Luisa reaches up on her tiptoes, just above Rose, pushing herself a little closer as she does so, and scrounges about in the cabinet before pulling out a second pair of mugs, these less festive and more star-studded. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to mix fall drink with the rest of the hot chocolate, although if it’s anything like pumpkin spice, then it would probably be fine. Pumpkin spice hot chocolate is _actually_ really good. So is mixing chocolate and chai. But not chocolate and cider.

She isn’t going to risk it.

As she lets herself back down, placing the new mugs on the counter, Luisa realizes two things at the exact same time: **one** , she’s standing really, _really_ close to Rose – so close that she’s practically on top of her, which is really awkward from the standpoint of an inn owner spending time with someone stuck here because of the snowstorm – and **two** , Rose hasn’t moved away from her and, in fact, doesn’t seem remotely annoyed with her proximity – which probably just means that Rose is part of a big family where everyone is all on top of each other all of the time when they cook and has absolutely nothing to do with Luisa herself at all.

Absolutely not.

Nope.

_Serial killer love interest my ass._

Luisa blushes as she moves away. “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to step all over you. _Really sorry._ Apparently, I’m just as bad at hotel life as I am at the whole doctoring thing – it’s got nothing to do with pressure and _everything_ to do with one-on-one interaction, sorry.”

“Oh. I didn’t even notice,” Rose says as Luisa avoids her gaze. “I thought you were just trying to keep me warm.”

A suave quip is on the tip of Luisa’s tongue, but she restrains herself this time. Years ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated to lean closer and whisper something corny and suggestive, something terrible like, “I could keep you warm all night, if you want,” with her usual forthright attempt at seduction. And maybe in a different life, Rose would laugh, leaning in before the mirth disappeared from her face to gently kiss her.

Luisa shakes her head, dispelling her fantasy. She’s been alone out here for too long. Usually it’s not too bad as long as she goes into town, but she’s been stuck indoors with no company and it’s obvious that it’s starting to affect her if she’s thinking on hitting on the poor, hapless stranger that’s trapped with her.

Besides, she barely knows Rose, and vice versa. What if Rose has a boyfriend or fiancé? Or fiancée, for that matter? (Luisa has pretty good gaydar, and Rose gives her vague sapphic vibes.) There are too many unknowns; it’s not worth opening that can of worms. So instead, Luisa asks, “Are you cold? We can go back to the fireplace.”

“Sure,” Rose says easily, completely unaware of Luisa’s convoluted mental processes.

They carry their mugs out to the great room, leaving the mess for Luisa to clean up in the morning, and settle on the couch in front of the fire. Luisa curls her legs underneath her, leaning sideways against its arm, while Rose leans her back against the other arm, sipping occasionally at her drink.

“So I gather you’ve been reading a lot,” Rose says, nodding to the books as she breaks the silence.

“Yeah.” Luisa takes a sip of fall drink and hums with pleasure as the caramel warms her from the inside out. “There’s not much to do when you’re snowed in.”

“I can’t remember the last time I read a book for fun,” Rose says wistfully. “By the time I’m done with depositions, I just want to zone out in front of the TV.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Luisa replies. “I know I’m lucky to have the mental energy to read in my spare time. Have you seen anything good lately?”

Rose bites her lower lip. “I wouldn’t say _good_ necessarily.”

That piques Luisa’s interest. “What’s that mean?”

“I usually only watch things that require a minimal amount of brain energy. Lately, it’s been, uh….” Rose scratches the back of her neck, a faint pink tinge starting in her cheeks. Luisa thinks it looks very aesthetically pleasing in the firelight.

Yeah, that’s all.

“…Hallmark Christmas movies,” Rose finishes in a near whisper.

“Oh.” Luisa blinks a couple of times. “I’ve never seen one.”

“ _What?!_ ” Rose nearly spills her mug, she sits up so quickly.

Luisa blinks again, wincing. “Is that _bad?_ ”

Rose closes her eyes and rubs the bridge of her nose. “You own a bed and breakfast in the middle of this quaint Christmas village, and you’ve never seen a Hallmark movie?”

Luisa shrugs. “I don’t know. They just never appealed very much to me.” She wrinkles her nose. “Too heterosexual.”

If Rose feels one way or another about Luisa not being straight, she doesn’t show it. “Okay, that’s a fair point. But I just finished this one, and I think it’s pretty good. Very cheesy, obviously, but it’s cute and the perfect thing to watch when you’re snowed in. Do you mind?” she asks, reaching for the remote.

“By all means,” Luisa says. “I could use something to watch while I regain feeling in my fingers and toes.” She wiggles her toes in her socks again, smiling at the swish of the mermaid’s tail. “Still numb.”

Rose searches a bit before she pulls up a movie, and while she looks for it, Luisa makes a bowl of fresh popcorn. When she returns, the screen shows two red hands – Santa’s? Maybe? Luisa doesn’t get Hallmark movies – around a clear ornament. Inside of the ornament is probably what might be considered a ruggishly handsome blond bearded man (she doesn’t get it, but oh well) and a smiling redhead who looks _kind of_ like what Rose might have, in a different life. The woman seems to be holding a transparent snow globe or ornament, too, so maybe this is – what’s the word – movie cover inception? Maybe the ornament they’re looking at is the one she’s holding? Or maybe it’s reflective? _She doesn’t get it._

“Come on. Really?” Luisa asks in good humor as she reads the title. “ _Christmas Getaway?_ ”

“I never said it was a masterpiece,” Rose says, “but it’s a decent way to spend an hour and a half. Plus, there’s eye candy whether you’re into guys or girls. And a cute kid. That certainly doesn’t hurt.”

“Is there a dog?” Luisa asks. “I read somewhere that Hallmark Christmas movies always involve a dog. I could get behind a cute dog.”

“You’ll just have to see and find out.”

Luisa makes a few mildly disparaging comments here and there throughout the movie, more to see Rose’s offended expressions and retorts than out of actual reactions. She figures that she’ll stop if Rose complains that she’s ruining the experience, but Rose never says anything like that. In fact, she seems to enjoy the quips just as much as she is pained by them. They move closer as the movie continues, pulling a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapping it around themselves until they thaw out.

When the movie ends and the credits begin to roll, Rose looks at her expectantly. “Well?”

Personally, Luisa thought it was a little too long and that the whole “heroine realizes she wants to try for romance anyway” trope was too sudden for her taste, but she supposes Rose didn’t promise her anything more than cheesy Christmas fluff. And there’s something so open and earnest about her face that Luisa can’t let her down. “It was better than I thought it would be,” Luisa concedes, “although it would have been better if there was a dog.”

Rose clinks her mug with Luisa’s. “I’ll take that as a victory.”

The wind makes the nearby tree branches clamor against the windows as if in agreement. Either that, or they intend to make Luisa jump – she does so, then quickly glances to the blanket, worried that her fall drink might have sloshed over the side of her mug. But there isn’t enough left; she’s finished it during the movie without even realizing she had.

Rose finishes her hot chocolate and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. It’s such an unexpected human gesture that Luisa actually feels herself start to fall in love, just the tiniest bit. But she reins that in real quick. Every reason why a relationship would be a bad idea still applies.

 _Calm down_ , she tells herself. _You don’t have to fall in love with every attractive stranger you get snowed in with._

She blames the movie, honestly. It’s a bad example.

“So what else do people do when the weather’s too bad to go outside?” Rose asks, shaking Luisa out of her thoughts.

“We have board games,” Luisa says, head tilting to one side. “Don’t you live up here, though? Isn’t that why you were driving through?”

Rose shakes her head. “No, not at all. I took a wrong turn off of the freeway and ended up here. I was just turning around when my car conked out.” She smirks. “I think we would have met if I lived up here. This is one of those quaint _everyone knows everyone_ sort of towns, isn’t it? My sister would _love_ it up here.”

Luisa shrugs. “It might be. I haven’t been here long enough to find out.” She glances away, not wanting to continue that line of conversation. “Do you want to play a game?”

“Sure,” Rose answers, stretching. “I haven’t played one in ages. Might as well since I have the free time for it, right? What do you have?”

“The classics,” Luisa says, getting up to rummage behind the front desk. “Monopoly, Life, the board game version of the Oregon Trail, which is _not_ as hard as they’d have you believe.” Then she stops, her eyes lighting up. “Oooooh.” Her head pops up above the desk. “How about Jenga? People have written get-to-know-you questions on the blocks, so it’s slightly less painful than your standard icebreakers.”

“Jenga sounds good.” Rose crosses her arms as she leans back against the couch. “You’re a bit of a mystery, Dr. Luisa.”

“That’s Dr. _Alver_ to you. Besides,” Luisa continues as she pulls out the Jenga box and hops the front desk, “I’m an open book. I don’t have anything to hide.”

Rose gives her an enigmatic smile. “I have some secrets.”

Luisa raises an eyebrow as she shakes out the blocks. “That you’re willing to share?”

Rose’s smile grows. “We’ll see.”

The first questions are pretty mild. They always are.

“What languages can you speak?” Luisa reads off of the first block she removes from the tower.

“German, French, and English.”

“Wow.” Luisa stares at Rose. “Fluently? Or like high school level?”

“Pretty fluently.” Rose watches her from her place on the couch, the blanket curled around her lap. “I grew up in Switzerland until I was ten. My family still has a chalet in the mountains. We try to go skiing every year, but we’ve been inconsistent about it in the last few years.”

Luisa whistles as she places the block on top of the tower. “That’s pretty fancy.”

“What about you?”

“Italian and Spanish. And English, of course.” Luisa starts to lean against the fireplace before realizing exactly what she is doing and then jumps out of the way, opting to lean against the window instead. Freezing cold, maybe, but better than getting her pants burned off.

Rose grins. “Look at us. We could take a trip to Europe and be pretty comfortable with the locals.”

Luisa ignores the images that come to mind of going on a romantic tour of Europe hand-in-hand with Rose and the fluttering in her stomach that accompanies it. “We’d be confined to Western Europe.”

“My Russian is very, very rusty, but I’m sure we could get by.” Rose eases off of the couch. The blanket drops to the floor.

“You speak Russian, too?”

“Not well.” Rose examines the tower. “I picked up a little while I was studying abroad, but it’s been years since I’ve used it. I think most of it’s gone now.”

Luisa looks outside at the ever increasing amount of snow pressing against the inn. “Well, we’ll have to get through the next few days first before we start planning any trips abroad. Your turn.”

At her words, Rose eases a block from near the bottom of the tower.

“A risk taker,” Luisa observes.

“What can I say? I like to win,” Rose replies. “What would a show about your life be about?” she reads off of the block. “What would it be called? Who would play you?”

Luisa scowls. “That’s not fair! That’s three questions!”

Rose shrugs. “I’m just reading off of the block. You should’ve vetted them before you set this up.”

“There’s no way all of that fit on one block,” Luisa says. “Let me see it.”

“No way!”

Luisa reaches out for it, but Rose holds it out of her grasp. When she tries to jump for it, Rose lifts it higher – which is completely unfair, as Rose is taller than she is – and when she lands, the tower shakes. Rose smirks. “Just answer the question, or the tower’s going to fall, and I’m going to win.”

Luisa pouts and crosses her arms. “Fine. _Fine._ ” She takes a moment to think it over before she says, “You know I’m a romantic.” She gestures to the books on the table. “I think the show would be called _The Greatest Love Story Ever Told_ and detail the ups and downs of a truly epic love.” She frowns. “Of course, I’d have to meet the love of my life first. I’m still working on that.”

“How do you know you haven’t met them yet?” Rose asks casually.

Luisa laughs. “Why, are you offering to take the part?”

“I might be interested,” Rose says, but her tone is light and joking. Luisa doesn’t put much stock into it. “And who would you want to star as you?”

“I’ve been told I bear a passing resemblance to Yara Martinez,” Luisa answers, smug.

“Felicia in _True Detective?_ ” Rose squints. “I can see it.”

“I don’t see it, personally, but….” Luisa shrugs. “Any idea what your life story would be called?”

Rose shakes her head. “A show about my life would be boring. I don’t do anything outside work.”

It goes on for a while. About halfway through, they go back to the kitchen to replenish their mugs. They drink all the fall drink, and Luisa makes hot cocoa two more times. Rose takes a stab at making winter drink based off of what Luisa has in her cupboards, and it turns out surprisingly well, despite Rose’s insistence that she can’t really cook. Luisa makes more popcorn, but eventually they break out sandwiches (and Rose laughs at Luisa’s secret stash of Goldfish crackers).

The game takes longer than either of them thought it would. Luisa plays it safe, only taking out ones she’s sure she can without the whole thing toppling over. Like Luisa surmised, Rose goes for the showiest pieces. She takes out all the bottom ones first. But despite her showmanship, she’s incredibly adept at squeaking out the blocks with nary a wobble.

Other questions include: “You need to break up with yourself. How do you let yourself down easy?” (“It’s not my fault I’m so sexy and irresistible,” Rose says. “I don’t think that’s the point of the question,” Luisa answers, laughing), “What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?” (Followed by a teasing game of complimenting each other in an attempt to outdo their answers), “Would you rather lose all of your money or all of your photos?” (They disagree on this one), and “What’s taken you the longest to get good at?” (Luisa expects Rose’s answer will be _playing Jenga_ , but it isn’t. Instead Rose says, "Empathy.")

Luisa frowns as she considers her next move. “Are you sure you’re not a secret champion Jenga player? This is getting kind of ridiculous.”

“No, just competitive,” Rose says, watching her lean this way and that to get the best vantage point. Luisa has to look away, or else she’ll get distracted by the way Rose’s eyes crinkle when she looks at her.

After a solid few minutes of prodding, Luisa holds a block aloft in victory. “What crime would you commit if you knew you could get away with it?” she reads from the block.

“Stabbing a man in the neck with a corkscrew,” Rose responds immediately.

Luisa rolls her eyes. “This is because I thought you were a serial killer, isn’t it?”

“Maaaybe.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down. Your turn. I hope the tower comes crashing down at the last second.” Luisa sticks her tongue out at Rose again.

Rose scoffs. “You wish.” Just to be petty, she takes all of two seconds to slide a particularly tricky one from the middle of the stack. The tower sways dangerously but holds firm. “This one’s nice and easy. What’s your phone wallpaper?”

Luisa holds up her phone. “My nieces and nephew. They live in Miami. I don’t see them often enough, but I do get to see them, so that’s something.”

“Bad blood between you and your family?”

“Something like that.” There’s a pause before she says, “But it’s okay because I love them and Jane and Rafael and Petra and their kids are one big happy family at the Marbella and it’s great.” Her voice breaks. “That’s great.”

Luisa hopes Rose will ignore it, but to no avail because Rose slides her hand over Luisa’s in a hesitant, faltering way. “I’m sorry. That sounds really hard. It must be very lonely to be so far away from them.”

“Yeah.” Luisa sniffs. “It’s okay. They’re happy together, and I just…. I just had to get away from the never-ending drama and betrayal and love triangles and spats over money and hotel shares. I’m much happier up here. I’m closer to my mom’s memory here.” She wipes angrily at her tears. “Any fun stories behind your wallpaper?”

“Nope,” Rose answers, allowing her to change the subject. “Just one of your generic wallpapers that comes with the factory default.”

“Not even one of your pets? Or your family? Or a show or character you’re obsessed with?”

Rose shrugs. “I told you I’m not sentimental.”

Luisa shakes her head. “Strange.” Then she holds out her hand. “Let me see your phone.”

“Why?” Rose hesitates and then hands it over.

“You’ll see.” Luisa stares at the factory preset background and frowns. “Okay, you have to unlock it.”

Rose takes her phone back, enters in a passcode that she keeps Luisa from seeing, and then passes the phone back to Luisa, one eyebrow cocked. “What are you doing?”

“ _You’ll see._ ” Luisa scootches closer to Rose and then snaps a quick picture of the two of them before Rose has a moment to stop her, then she scootches back and takes one of herself. A few seconds later – against Rose’s protests (“Wait, wait!”) – and she hands the phone back. “ _There_ ,” she says with a grin. “Now you don’t have a factory default wallpaper anymore.”

Rose stares at her phone, and Luisa’s grin fades. “You can change them, if you don’t like it.”

“No, no, I just….” Rose looks up. “I’m surprised no one else has done that before.” She places her phone face up on the side table next to her and pops her knuckles. “Your turn, right?”

They play for a few more turns. Every now and again, Luisa catches Rose taking a quick glance over to her phone with a little smile, and it warms her heart more than fall drink ever could. Then Rose’s luck runs out trying to free “What’s something you would change about your past?”

“Ha!” Luisa leaps to her feet, doing a dorky dance to celebrate. “I’m the Jenga champion! In your face!”

Rose sighs dramatically, but the effect is ruined when she doesn’t stop smiling. “Darn. I guess my lack of practice over the last fifteen years was my downfall.” She sits on the couch and grabs her ankles. “So what happens now? Do I still answer the question?”

“If you want to.” Luisa plops down onto the couch next to her, leaving the Jenga blocks where they’ve fallen. “I’m interested in what you have to say.”

Rose turns the block over in her hands. “You seem happy,” she says finally. “I think if I had a chance to do it all over again, I’d get out. I’m good at what I do, but sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it. I think I’d want to retire, get out of the business, and travel with someone special.”

“That sounds nice,” Luisa says softly. “Anyone you had in mind?”

Rose grins. “Are we still on for that trip through Europe once the snow lets up?”

“I’ll see if I can clear my schedule for you.”

They play a few more games (Rose thrashes her at poker) before it’s time for bed. Neither of them has been paying much attention to the clock, just enjoying the time they’re spending together (and winning at games), but then Rose yawns – from _exhaustion_ , not _boredom_ , she is very sure to make sure Luisa knows – and they finally notice the time. Luisa jumps when she realizes how late it is getting. “I haven’t even made up a bed for you!”

“Don’t worry about it.” Rose yawns again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m not picky. I’ll fall asleep anywhere.”

“That’s not the standard we hold ourselves to at Longbourne! Let me just….” Luisa plucks a key from behind the front desk and shoves it into Rose’s hand before she hurries off to freshen up the room. Just plumping a few pillows, making sure it doesn’t feel all musty, spritz a little of her perfume – so that it smells better; normally she has a little candle burning in one corner of the room, but she hasn’t done that during the blizzard – and it should be good. Check the little soaps and shampoos. _Good._

Oh, and one more thing—

By the time Luisa returns, Rose is starting to nod off on the couch, the blanket curled up around her.

“It’s ready!” Luisa says before noticing and then feels instantly worse. If Rose isn’t awake, she certainly doesn’t want to wake her up. And she looks…really nice, relaxed like that.

“Here’s just fine,” Rose mumbles.

“Come on,” Luisa says, pulling Rose to her feet as soon as the other woman reveals that she isn’t quite out yet. “You’ll get a terrible crick in your neck if you sleep here. We’re not teenagers anymore.” She supports her to her room, bells along her collar jingling the entire way. “Okay, I got you some of my old pajamas, but I’m not sure if they’ll fit you. The bathroom’s at the very end of the hall. There’s extra toothbrushes under the sink if you want to brush your teeth before bed. My room’s right across from yours if you need anything. Uh, what else.” It’s easy to ramble on, and Rose doesn’t seem like she’ll interrupt any time soon, which is really the only way to get Luisa to stop. “Breakfast is usually from 8am-9am, but since you’re the only one here, you can get up whenever you like. Or you can yell, and I’ll just bring it up to you. Either way. Usually I’d ask you what you’d like for breakfast, but that’s dependent on me getting the ingredients in the morning, and I’m not walking into town in this weather. Not even for you.”

Rose murmurs something, but Luisa doesn’t catch it as she lays Rose down on the bed, her back twinging slightly.

“What?”

Rose turns her face into Luisa’s arm, where it’s still trapped underneath her. “Thanks for letting me stay here, even though you think I’m a murderer,” she whispers against the bare skin of her wrist, her words slurred with sleep.

Luisa shivers violently. “You’re welcome. Sweet dreams.”

Then she turns off the light, closes the door behind her, and returns to tidy up in the kitchen and the great room. It’s an hour later when she finally lays down in her own bed, but even then, it takes some time before she drifts off to sleep.

* * *

The forecast says the storm isn’t supposed to clear for another two days, but the next day, the skies have cleared. Luisa thinks she’s never been so disappointed to wake up and see a quiet, blinding white blanket of snow over everything. The plows have been out sometime in the early morning and have cleared the road, giving the noticeable lump of snow where Rose’s car is buried a wide berth.

After a brisk breakfast (eggs, biscuits and vegan gravy, and some cereal – because after all that walking in the blizzard and their late time, they’re _starving_ ), they head out and work on uncovering Rose’s car together. Between the two of them, it isn’t too hard. Rose gives AAA another call. They say they’ll be out there within an hour.

Luisa knows she should be happy that Rose will be able to see her family for Christmas, but it’s been so nice to have someone to spend time with during the holidays. She tries to think of something to say, acutely aware that her time with Rose is running out, but the words she wants to say are too much and stick in her throat. They talk about things that don’t matter instead, idle small talk about how bad the roads must still be and hopes that next year will be better.

When Luisa sees the AAA car turn the corner, she panics.

_Don’t make it weird. Keep it casual._

“So, um,” she starts, clearing her throat, “I know this has been a really weird thing to happen to you, but I really enjoyed your company and, uh, here’s my number if you wanted to keep in contact.” She scribbles it down on an official bit of Longbourne stationary and holds it out to Rose. “I know this is probably one of those instances where we had a good time – I mean, I hope you had a good time. I had a good time with you, but I know that might not be mutually inclusive – but sometimes it’s just weird to keep in contact outside the specific context of a situation, you know? But, like, I keep in contact with a lot of people that have stayed at Longbourne, so it’s not weird if you don’t want it to be weird.”

_Nailed it._

Rose takes the paper gently from her grasp and slips it into her pocket. Luisa hopes she doesn’t notice how her hand shakes. “I had a really good time with you these past couple of days,” Rose says quietly. “I hope we see each other again.”

Hearing that buoys something in Luisa’s chest, even though she knows it doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

It’s a simple matter for AAA to jump Rose’s car, and after a slightly stilted goodbye that culminates in a brief, awkward hug, Rose gets in her car and drives off. Luisa stands there and watches until Rose’s tail lights vanish from view. She feels like she just missed out on a very big what-if.

The hopeless romantic in her – encouraged by the movie she’d seen with Rose – thinks that maybe, just maybe, Rose will change her mind and turn around and drive back, that she just has a little while to wait and then she’ll see her again – only a few hours at most.

But it doesn’t happen.

* * *

Rose _does_ text her after a few days. She sends Luisa a photo of her grinning in front of the Christmas tree. She’s pointing at her sweater, which features a smiling cat rolling around in ornaments and lights. It’s emblazoned with the words, “Feline the Holiday Spirit.”

Luisa snorts, even though seeing Rose’s face looking so pretty and smug makes her heart ache.

 _I approve_ , she texts back.

* * *

Months pass.

Visitors come and go.

Luisa heads into town and catches up with the neighborhood gossip on a fairly regular basis.

Her text exchanges with Rose are never very long, but they’re pretty dependable. They text at least once a week for several months. They don’t ever call, though. Luisa isn’t sure why Rose doesn’t, but it feels a little too personal for her. Like hearing Rose’s voice in real time will make things more serious than they actually are.

Not that they have a relationship in the first place, Luisa reminds herself. They’re just people who happened to run into each other once.

* * *

Their texts get more and more infrequent. Luisa sends a few messages unprompted, but she doesn’t want to push it. She knows Rose must be very busy. She doesn’t want to be the sort of person who keeps bothering someone when it’s clear they’re not interested in keeping in touch. The last message she sends is _Happy Thanksgiving!_

* * *

It’s the week before Christmas when the bell over the door jangles. Heavy footsteps approach Luisa at the front desk, where she’s just finished writing the addresses of the Christmas cards she’ll drop off at the post office later that day. (She knows she’s supposed to send them out early, but she’s late every single year. It’s a hallmark of her Christmas cards at this point.)

“Welcome to Longbourne Inn!” Luisa says without looking up. “I’ll be right with you!”

“That’s fine,” a very familiar voice says. “I have time.”

Luisa pauses, steeling herself in case her mind’s playing tricks on her. It wouldn’t be the first time.

She looks up.

“Room for one, please,” Rose says with a smile.


End file.
